


The Sons of War

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [51]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: And More Angst, Angst, F/M, angsty angst, seriously, this thing is not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Bellamy refuses to fight in the arena.





	1. Everybody fights

_War rages the land._   
_Chaos and Fire, his best friends, ride beside him._   
_Under their horse's hooves bloom his children_

 

Everybody fights, that’s the one thing Octavia knows is irrevocably true.

No matter who you pit them against, no matter their age, their clan of origin, no matter if it’s family members or hated enemies when they enter the arena they all fight.

Octavia has seen it with her own eyes. The woman pitted against her two small children; the lovers who swore up and down they wouldn’t kill each other. They all fought, even Kane, who claimed he despised the pit. It's a matter of self-preservation, of instinct. Nothing they can do about it.

Octavia raises her head to look in the broken mirror.

A curious thing, this mirror. 

Octavia smashed it in a fit of frustrated rage four years ago, and it was never replaced. Why has nobody taken it away? Indra should’ve taken it away. Her _seda_ is so tidy. It’s weird that she left the broken thing just hanging there, on display for everyone to see.

She picks up a shard of broken glass.

It’s sharp like a blade, and it reflects the left corner of her eye and part of her cheekbone.

Octavia chuckles.

Maybe that was the first sign of rebellion from her trusted advisor. Not her alliance with Kane, not her keeping of the Doctor’s secrets, but her leaving this broken mirror in Octavia’s room. A symbol of how utterly distorted she thought Octavia had become, hung there for all to see.

She looks at the corner of her eye on the small shard in her hand. Somehow it’s come to rest on the inside of her pale wrist.

It’s an odd thing this little shard: so small and yet, it could do so much harm. Maybe it’s a testament to her power. The fact that it’s been there for four years and nobody ever tried to slit her throat with it. An example of the fact that she was, maybe not loved like Bellamy would’ve been, but respected.

What would happen if she just pushed it into her skin? Octavia wonders. Would Wonkru dissolve? Would that save her brother and Indra and Gaia? Would they march or stay here with their ghosts and grow crops?

Everybody fights.

She will not take the coward’s way out. She’ll stand. She’ll fight and so will Bellamy. No matter how stubborn he is, when Indra comes at him with a weapon, his instincts will kick in, and he’ll fight back. He’ll know what he has to do, and he’ll win. She’s seen him fight; he’s good enough.

The mirror shard cuts deep into her elbow, thick red blood welling instantly up. She barely notices the sting, her mind abuzz with the sight of blood. Her stomach growls, the rations are scarcely enough to keep hunger at bay.

_I wish I knew what made you this way._

Her brother’s words send chills down her spine.

She was ready to tell him, she really was. When she first saw him, she wanted to confess, to run to him, hide in his chest and tell him everything she had done. Everything she had been forced to do.

_I wish that I could have been here to take the burden off you over this last six years._

But she knows he would never understand. How could he? Bellamy and his bleeding heart and his love for children. He would never have gone through with it.

The truth is, she didn’t tell him because he would never accept that. He would never understand, and he would blame himself.

 _It is his fault_ , whispers a tiny, cruel voice in the back of her head. _He promised he’d always be there for you. He’d protect you and he left you behind under the floor. Took your friends, and left you down here to rot and slaughter and rule. What does he know of sacrifice?_

Octavia rubs her blood over her face.

 _The blood of our enemies is your armor,_ said Gaia, all those years ago.

How fitting that her own blood would eventually become her enemy.

She takes a deep breath.

Gaia was right. All this sentiment, all this love for her best friend, for her seda, for her brother - It’s a weakness that threatens to destroy her.

Still, if this is what it takes for her people to be rid of this bunker – for her to never be underground ever again – then so be it.

Everybody fights.

There is a distinct tension in the air when Octavia steps into the arena. People are uneasy. Dissent is like a stench that permeates everything. Still she has a job to do. She will not go through another uprising. People will fall back in line. They’ll leave this god-forsaken place and _then_ when they’re in the valley and Eligious has been dealt with, if they still want their precious commander, she’ll step down.

But not a second before her enemies are defeated.

Octavia takes her place on her throne, Miller, and Brell by her sides.

Indra and Gaia know the drill, they both go for the staff. Bellamy stays where he is, eyes fixed on her, shoulders relaxed, hands open at his sides.

Everybody fights.

Indra slams the shaft of the spear against Gaia’s head, and the priestess falls. The warrior turns towards Bellamy, who’s still staring up at her, unmoving, unblinking. Someone shouts. “Bellamy watch out!” And Octavia wants to weep when he turns to see Indra, jumping towards him with a war cry.

Everybody fights.

Bellamy watches the warrior launch herself at him, and Octavia can see his muscles tensing, ready for the jump, his whole body vibrating with tension. This is the moment. Now his survival instinct will kick in. Now he’ll fight.

But he doesn’t. Bellamy turns his head back towards her, and this is Kane all over again. Only worse, because Kane was at least trying to prove a point. He said something, defied the system he had helped create. Bellamy is not part of the system. He shouldn’t even be down there. He’s not Wonkru, he never witnessed the fights, never…

Indra slams the but of her spear into his thigh, trying to prompt him to move.

Everybody fights.

Bellamy’s leg buckles. And he falls to one knee. Surely now he will fight. He'll roll aside; he'll go for the sword. He'll defend himself. He has to.

He doesn’t.

Gaia stumbles dazedly to her feet. Dodges when her mother swirls the staff in her general direction, more reflex than anything. Indra’s out of time, Octavia knows she won’t kill Gaia.

 _Please!_ Octavia wants to scream. _Bell, please!_

But she can’t say anything. 

Indra embraces Octavia's brother. Her lips move against his ear, but the Red Queen can't hear her. The tip of the spear goes through Bellamy's chest. His eyes are still on his sister. Even as the warrior holds him up. Even as he chokes up blood, as Gaia comes to Bellamy’s other side and helps her mother lower him to the floor, an oddly gentle moment in that horror-filled arena. Bellamy’s eyes are still trained on her. 

That’s the only thing Octavia sees. The rest of the world falls away. She can only stare at Bellamy’s body, prone on the floor. His blood seeping onto the floor. His shirt red with it.

But that can’t be. It can’t be, because everybody fights and Bellamy has fought more than anyone else.

It doesn’t make sense, because this is Bellamy, who promised he would never let anything bad happen to her. _I am here now_ ; he said just this morning.

Six years she spent wishing her brother was here. How can he be gone?

He can’t. This is a trick. A sick trick he an Indra and Gaia are playing on her to try and make her change her mind.

Bellamy can’t just be… dead.


	2. Six little words

_War rides east on his black steed  
_ _Destruction and Rage carry his children._  
Beware their knock on your door. 

 

Monty muses over the words of his speech carefully. 

Speeches are usually Bellamy's thing. Words come easily to him; he has always had the strength required to wield their power. On the Dropship his words inspired a group of hundred disgruntled teens, making them fall in line like nobody else ever managed to do. He motivated and kindled passions inside all of them like a tidal wave. On the Ring, when the days were slow, and they had nothing to do, he could bring them to tears or rolling around in laughter with his stories. 

Bellamy knows all the stories. Monty remembers that one in which this powerful god-like creature turns to his enemy. _I could bring down your government with six words._ That part of the story always sent chills down Monty's spine, because, when he imagines that mighty hero in this particular story, it's always Bellamy's face he imagines. 

Maybe that's why it hurts so much that Bellamy wouldn't listen to him, choosing instead to go with Clarke's plan.   

“If we do this, and it doesn’t work, we’ll be the next ones fighting for our lives in the arena,” whispers Harper, helping him fill the small pot with water, mindful of the little roots.   


Monty swallows. 

Words are curious little things, with their endless power and their insubstantial appearance. It should be Bellamy the one to speak up. He was the one who inspired them  whenever they were feeling down, protected them, entertained and chastised them. The fearless leader of the pack, always knowing how to bring out their strengths, how to take care of them.

“You don’t need to do this,” says Monty, carefully covering the plant with a cloth, both to protect the ghost apple and for the dramatic reveal – god he’s spent too much time around Bellamy.

“We are in this together, Monty.” Harper smiles, and the fact that she’s willing to defy a crazy dictator armed only with a small stalk warms his heart. He has to fight the urge to jump her then and there. They have a job to do. Two, actually: save Bellamy’s life and stop a senseless war.

They make their way to the arena with nobody paying any attention to them and Monty uses this time to go over his words one more time. 

He doesn't want to bring Octavia's government down. Doesn't want to destroy what she's made down here. God knows he cannot judge her actions over the past six years. But the people deserve a chance to chose for themselves if they want to march or not. 

To slip inside is oddly easy, Monty guesses it’s because everyone is watching the fight and there is no fear of the contenders trying to flee.

Monty pushes the door open. "Stop!"

This is the first time Monty has been down here, and it looks way more intimidating with the blood, and the low lighting and the crowd containing its breath. He sees Indra and Gaia standing off to a side, both holding the shaft of the same spear.

“Monty you don’t belong down there!”

Miller’s voice catches his attention. Bellamy’s former lieutenant stands by Octavia’s throne, gun raised and a deep frown etched on his handsome face, lips pursed. 

It hurts to see him standing there, perpetrating this senseless reign of violence. They were friends once, played cards in the sky box's communal area. Even though he was one of the 'cool kids,' Miller was always kind and friendly to him and Jasper. Oh, how jealous he had been of Bryan back then!

Pushing those useless thoughts back, Monty steps further into the arena. Behind him Harper jams the door with a wrench, preventing guards from coming and evicting them. 

“Octavia told you we have to march!” he says, loud and clear, his precious ghost apple carefully cradled in his hands. Monty lets his eyes travel around the room. Everyone’s attention is on him now. Good, they all need to hear this. They’ll see there’s no need to fight. He steps further into the circle of light.

Harper gasp catches his attention. He sees her rush past him. There is something splayed on the floor.

“That we have to fight for the one place left where we can survive-”

Harper kneels beside it touching its head, brushing a strand of black hair carefully back. 

It's a body.

His carefully rehearsed words desert him as he recognizes the proud arch of his cheekbones, the definite line of his nose. 

It’s Bellamy: laid out on the floor, a bloody tear in his repurposed shirt, skin pale, eyes open and unmoving. He’s laying in a pool of his own blood, the head slightly tipped to the side.

He is dead.

Monty feels his heart shattering in his chest.

 _Say it, or you’ll regret it_ , whispers Jasper’s ghost in his ear and the world is spinning.

 _Didn’t think so._ That’s the last thing he said to Bellamy. And yes, he’s still angry about Cooper. But- But he was supposed to have time to mend things with him. Bellamy’s as much part of his family as Harper, Raven or Murphy. Bellamy’s one of the only six members of his family, of his clan. They all fight, they are at odds and then make up. They- They- How can he be dead?

Monty's eyes fall on Octavia.

 _Six words,_ whispers the hero from Bellamy's story. 

Red-hot anger burns through his veins. He doesn’t want her dead, that's much too merciful. He wants to destroy everything she holds dear. He wants her to feel like he's feeling right now. He wants to destroy her, and everything she has built. 

Starting with her cult.

Monty pulls the cloth from the little ghost apple tree. Octavia stands from her throne, face going pale behind her war-paint.

_Six._

“Octavia knows that is not true!”

Monty knows his talent with words is nowhere near Bellamy's. He knows there's no way those words alone would've been enough to topple a strong, well-liked leader. 

But, right now, as her people look at the flowering ghost apple tree, their latent anger and dissent are the kindle and his words the spark needed to set them ablaze.  

_"Nou Blodreina nowe!"_

He doesn’t need to hear the shouts “Blodreina no more!” He doesn’t care. His eyes are on Bellamy, Harper kneeling by his side. Fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes wide and fearful say everything: _what now?_

They can’t stay here. They need to tell Raven and the rest. They need to-

Monty looks down at the body; his anger is ebbing away and leaving only the pain behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	3. Stars

 

_Beware the sons of War arriving at your doorstep._   
_They dress in rotting flesh and blood._   
_Their names: Pain and Death._

 

Stars look different from the ground than they did on the Ring.

Sitting on a big boulder just outside the little cave they’re hiding in, Echo looks up at the sky, taking deep breaths of unfiltered fresh air. From down here the constellations look like the freckles on Bellamy’s cheeks, or, maybe, it’s the other way around.

Being an insomniac, Echo had many opportunities over the years to map every one of the constellations on Bellamy’s face. On top of his left cheekbone, cradled by a faded half-moon scar, his freckles take the distinct shape of the Orion constellation.

Which is oddly fitting: a sky person made out of stars.

In the quietness of the night, unseen by the rest of her Kru, she can sort through all the warring feelings inside her: the worry for her friend’s wellbeing, with the certainty that they can handle themselves. The real threat their enemies pose, with the faith that the Spirits will protect them.

 _We’ll find each other again_.

She needs to believe that. No matter how slim the odds, she needs to believe it or she'll lose her mind.

In the distance, the racket of the war for Eden keeps the birds silent. They’re all listening, wondering. An explosion shakes the whole valley. The tree beside her shudders, a squirrel falls on her lap. Squirrel and spy regard each other for a confused moment before it hurries away with an indignant chirrup.

Somewhere to her left branches rustle in a very unnatural way. Her hand goes to the sword lying by her side. She stands up silently adjusting her stance. If these are Octavia’s scouts, trying to find defectors, she cannot let them report back to their superiors. She can only hope they aren’t former Azgedan warriors, she may be Azgeda no more, but killing her once people is something she doesn't want to do. 

Harper crashes through the underbrush first, rifle in hand, eyes wide and slightly spooked. Behind her is a pale-looking Monty. Echo exhales a sigh of relief. Lowering her weapon, she rushes to the pair, hugging them fiercely.

“Come in. We have some leftover hare,” Echo says, guiding them towards the cave’s entrance. Monty opens his mouth to say something, but a quick shake from Harper’s head has him closing his mouth again and following them inside.

Only Madi is sleeping when they enter. Murphy and Emori are curled up at the back of the cave: Murphy staring at the wall in front of him, Emori, at the small fire, arms crossed and back stubbornly turned to her ex-partner. They’re pressed together, from shoulder to ass, her feet tangled between his calves. Raven sits by the fire braiding a bunch of little cables into a very long bracelet. Shaw lays at the back of the cave, his back to the wall, his eyes snapping instantly to the entrance when Echo, Harper, and Monty walk into the cave. On the farthest part of the cave are Clarke and Madi, the young girl curled up in a tiny ball with her head on her mother’s thighs. The blonde spirit blinks up at them, her face darkening when she sees the two Spacekru members she left behind to die.

“Monty, Harper!” Raven climbs awkwardly to her feet and rushes towards them. “What’s wrong?”

The pair looks at each other with uncertainty. Harper’s little hand slips onto their farmer’s. “Bellamy’s dead,” he says, his eyes downcast.

Someone’s breath catches.

“That can’t be.” Emori’s voice comes hoarser than usual.

“He died in the arena,” explains Harper, voice soft. “Indra told us it was quick. He didn’t suffer.”

From where he’s standing a step behind Emori, Murphy collapses on her, his arms going awkwardly around her, face disappearing in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

Raven shakes her head no. Harper turns to look at Echo. Her eyes are shiny with tears. “It was a warrior’s death.”

Those words should bring her comfort. It means his soul won’t be lost forever to the Void; he’ll find his way to the Great Halls of his ancestors, where he’ll be sunkissed and free of pain and hunger, loved.

The words don’t do anything to ease the pain.

Echo blinks back the tears. Swallows once. Twice.

A warrior doesn’t mourn the dead until the war is over. She claws at that thought, brings it close, drapes it around her like a heavy, well-worn cloak. Waits until it has calmed her breaking heart.

Someone sobs.

On the farthest end of the cave, Wanheda’s pressing her hands against her mouth, head bowed in sorrow, shoulders shaking.

“This is your fault!” Murphy’s voice is oddly loud.

Echo flinches at the sting of his words, out of the corner of her eye she sees Monty wince, but Murphy’s eyes are on Clarke. “You left him there to die!”

Murphy launches himself at the Wanheda and Echo moves without realizing, intercepting her friend’s fist with her shoulder, it stings but doesn’t really hurt, her whole body feels numb. Her mind is kind of scrambled, frighteningly empty.

Raven and Emori hold him back when he tries to come at Clarke again. Echo stands her ground. “It’s her fault! How can you defend her? Bellamy’s dead, and it’s her fault!”

The words burn. “Shut up, Murphy!” She’s choking, but the war isn’t over. “There is a war going on. We are surrounded by enemies, no matter who wins the war, we’ll be outsiders and won’t be safe.” She has to swallow the surge of emotion. The war is not over, yet. “We need to keep our heads, and that means we need to stick together.”

Murphy’s seething. “She got Bellamy killed.”

“Killing the Wanheda will not bring him back.” Her voice stumbles over the words; she can’t bring herself to say his name, because that will make it real and she isn’t sure she’ll be able to shoulder his death and keep going. Echo swallows back the tears. The war isn’t over; her people need her. “Getting ourselves killed will not bring him back. It will only bring dishonor to his legacy.”

Murphy sneers, ugly and hurt, his tears like diamonds on his cheeks. “Only you would care about that.” He takes a dangerous prowling step forward, in his eyes the Fox shines true and malicious. “You were supposed to love _him_.”

“That’s enough, Murphy.” Raven pulls on his arm, but, even though scrawny and untrained, their friend is stronger than he lets on.

Echo wants to say something. Wants to defend herself, wants to-

“Please excuse me,” her voice sounds hollow, but she doesn’t wait for anyone to answer before she’s turning and walking out of the cave. Echo keeps her back straight, her shoulders down, her steps measured.

One foot in front of the other, slow and precise.

The night air caresses her face, between the canopy of trees the stars wink at her.

A warrior doesn’t mourn the dead until the war is over.

Her knees buckle when she sees Orion’s belt.

Somewhere a wounded animal whines.

It takes Echo a moment to realize it is her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and commenting :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


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